Grave
by insanityfare
Summary: The Fourth and Final Installment of the Guilty Universe: 27 years ago, Ponyboy Michael Curtis stepped out of the movie theater and never made it home. This, is his story.


**Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever owned** _ **The Outsiders**_ **. Now sit back and relax and enjoy yet another installment of the** _ **Guilty**_ **One-Shot AU Universe.**

When fourteen-year-old Ponyboy Curtis stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, only two things were on his mind. The first was Paul Newman. He had just seen _Torn Curtain_ and wished he could be half as tuff as the double agent. Paul Newman was well built and handsome, the kind girls went crazy over. Ponyboy had yet to hit his growth spurt. Although he was well built for his age, he was short; which didn't make a guy feel so tuff when he was already at least a year younger than all his classmates, to begin with.

He stood in front of a movie poster and looked at his reflection. He ran a hand through his long greasy hair and sighed. As looks go, he thought, his were not so bad. He wasn't as handsome as either of his older brothers; Soda especially, but he wasn't exactly stuck with some ugly mug like Curly Shepard either. Everyone said he had tuff hair. His eyes were okay but he'd like them better if they were more gray than green. For some reason, he couldn't stand most guys with green eyes. Either way, he guessed he had to be content with what he had.

The another thing on his mind was a little more pertinent. He was thinking about a ride home, or rather his lack of one. He wouldn't have minded the walk so much if it weren't for the fact that he knew he would be getting a mouthful from his older brother Darry about what an idiot he was for walking on his lonesome when he knew that it was very likely he could get jumped; especially with what happened to Johnny months ago; although Ponyboy was sure that last part would go unsaid. Darry was sure to focus on Ponyboy's stupidity like he always did.

Why didn't he call Two-Bit to drive him or ask if Soda and Steve would pick him up? Even having Johnny tag along would have been better than losing it But Ponyboy liked going to the movies by himself. Without the other guys breathing down his neck or fooling around he could live the movie with the actors. Even though it could be fun with the others, it was kind of uncomfortable.

He'd started to make his way down the street when he began to realize that maybe he should have taken the advice his older brother would have given him. He was being followed by a car, a red Corvair and it was full of Socs.

That was the thing about being a Greaser, kid from the wrong side of the tracks. You didn't usually find yourself getting jumped by other greasers, not unless they wanted revenge or were downright looking for trouble. Socs, the rich kids, were a different story.

He began to walk faster. It wasn't any use, though. Ponyboy figured out that even before the car pulled to the side of the road and five guys, much larger and more well-dressed than he was stepped out.

Ponyboy could not think of what else to do. He was afraid, terrified. he could not help but picture Johnny Cade after he had been jumped, the scratches and bruises, all that blood. It had been horrible but seeing Johnny, who could take a beating by a two by four without batting an eye, cry had been the icing on the cake. Were these the same Socs?

His hands began to sweat and he could feel his forehead as it began to clam up. His heart beat faster and faster, his stomach did flip flops and he could not get his feet to move. He hitched his hands in his jeans and unable to think of anything else to do or say, he stood there like a bump on a log.

The Socs circled him, slowly, smiling like a bunch of wolfs surrounding a lone sheep. They smiled and Ponyboy felt sick. He wished wildely for a pop bottle. Steve Randle had once held four guys with one. There was nothing there.

One of them smiled and said in a sickly, saccharine voice "Hey, grease," "We're gonna do you a favor, greaser. We're gonna cut all that long greasy hair off."

Ponyboy, although usually quiet, could be pretty mouthy at times but he couldn't think of anything to say so he stayed silent, committing the blue madras shirt to memory. After all, there's not a lot to say when one is about to be mugged.

Another Soc, blonde and well-built forward with a knife. Ponyboy's eyes grew wider. "Need a haircut, greaser?"

"NO!" Ponyboy said. It wasn't very eloquent but what else does one say when someone's about to stab you. Even less graceful was the way he finally moved, backing into one of the Socs. Before he even had a chance to move away, they had him down on the pavement.

One set on his chest, the other's pinned him down the rest of the way. The smell of tobacco and English Leather shaving location permeated the air. Ponyboy wondered wildly if he would suffocate before they went even further. He almost wishes he would It'd be less painful than the alternative.

He struggled to get loose, cursing and swearing up a storm. The Socs slugged him and the one holding the knife brought it down closer. He snarled. "How'd you like that haircut to begin just below the chin?"

Ponyboy's eyes blew wide. It hadn't occurred to him that these guys just might kill them. Even Johnny as bad as he had been hurt, had merely been threatened. If someone really wanted to kill you, they very well could.

Apparently, it hadn't occurred to the Socs either because when the knife came close and cut deep and long across his jugular, their pupils blue wide and they looked sick.

Ponyboy didn't even have time to scream as the knife went headlong into his neck, slicing through skin, vein, and muscle. If he had felt like he'd been suffocating before, it was nothing like this. Blood dripped down his neck and the air knocked itself right out of him.

He tried to scream out for Soda, for Darry, for the gang; for anyone who might be listening. The only sound that came out of him was gurgled air. Hot tears ran down his face. He couldn't breathe. It felt like he was drowning. He rolled his eyes down. Blood trickled down the side of his neck and fell all over his clothes and the alleyway pavement.

"Shit, shit; you killed the kid."

"What are we going to do?"

"I am not going to jail for this."

The world was going hazy. The sound of the Soc's arguing was growing muffled and the air was getting colder. He wished widely for Soda. Soda would make everything better, he always did. Blood drizzled up is throat and out his mouth. There was no air coming.

The Soc's lifted him up and he heard the faint sounds of the trunk, woods and hide. He wasn't even dead yet and they were talking about throwing him away like garbage.

Not even dead. He was dying. He was dying...

He felt himself being lifted and thrown. His head hit the back with a thunk. The world was moving slower and slower and colder and colder. He could feel the blood rise and fill every cavity. Ponyboy had read books about death before, time and time again. They made it seem elegant, peaceful. He'd always thought is death would be poetic somehow. This was far from the end he'd imagined.

He thought briefly of his parents. They had died in a car crash eight months before. He didn't know too many of the details. Darry hadn't told him. At the time he had been almost grateful for that. All Darry said was that they hadn't felt any pain.

The car began to move and Ponyboy wanted to scream. He felt heavy and he could taste and smell the iron all around him. When he was seven, he'd nearly drowned in a pond outside the country. That was nothing compared to this. The iron permeated everything. And the pain! He'd been cut and scratched before. What guy hadn't been as a kid? If it wasn't trees and bikes, it was rumbles and wrestling. again, this was worse somehow.

Was it like this for his mom and dad? Did they know they were going to die? Did it hurt like this, like someone had ripped their throats out? Had they been awake, shivering unable to breathe with the impending doom of it all weighing down on them? He hoped not. He hated to think of his mom and dad like that. They were the best people he knew. His mom was strict but she'd also understood just about everyone. Dallas always said he'd have quite a mom and Dallas Winston didn't respect anyone, especially an adult and a woman to boot. His dad had been happy-go-lucky, just like Soda. He may have been forty but he sure didn't act like it.

It was going to be nice, he thought, to see them again. He wished they were with him now. His mom would hold him and maybe his dad would rub his back, His eyelids fluttered and he couldn't feel anything anymore. Just the cold and a heavy feeling of numbness, like the tingling of feet falling asleep when he sat in one position too long reading.

He could almost imagine Soda's arm around him, whispering something into his ear. Soda! He thought of his parent's death again, of their funeral. Soda had sobbed like a baby. This was going to break his heart. And Darry. Ponyboy knew Darry wasn't exactly fond of him and would not have minded throwing him into a boy's home if Soda wouldn't throw a fit over it. Would he be upset too? At any rate, he was right. Ponyboy just didn't use his head. With that last thought, Ponyboy Curtis lost all conscious thought and then he was dead. He was only 14 years old!

When he closed his eyes, Ponyboy Curtis did not expect he was going to wake up. He certainly did not expect to wake up just in time to see his own body being thrown into a hole between two trees. Thrown wasn't right. Tossed was more like it, tossed like garbage into a dumpster. At least the Socs had the decency to bury him somewhere nice.

Wait! Bury! Only then did it occur to him. He was dead. He had done it; he had actually died. That was his body. He'd never seen a dead body before, except in movies and those were mostly mannequins anyway. He felt morbidly drawn to his body, no not body, his corpse. Body felt more alive somehow.

It was odd. he'd seen himself before. In the shower, in the mirror and of course he'd seen himself in the reflection of the movie poster. He'd never looked like this before. They'd thrown him and he'd landed on his side. Blood trickled around his neck and down the side of his shirt. His eyes were open and bloodshot. Suddenly greenish gray eyes didn't seem so bad anymore. His skin was pale and sallow. He'd heard that when people died, they looked like they were sleeping. That was a load of BS. He didn't look like he was sleeping. He just looked... dead.

Ponyboy turned away, only vaguely aware of the Socs arguing over what to do next and of the sound of the shovel hitting the dirt. He looked at the corporal form of his own hands. He'd never seen a ghost before, outside of movies and this was nothing like that. His hands were his own but it was if the color had faded through them like a sheer cloth. It was off-putting to be able to know the color was there and to be able to see through it at the same time.

He wanted to scream, to yell. He wanted... He wanted to go home, for this all to be a nightmare. Maybe he'd fallen asleep at the movies and this was the dream he'd had so many times since his parents died. Maybe he'd wake up screaming bloody murder, Soda beside him with one arm around his waist and another rubbing his back; whispering in his ear that it would be okay. He'd calm down and soon he wouldn't be able to remember this.

That wasn't the case though and somehow he knew it wouldn't be. The hours melted into days and the Socs were long gone. Ponyboy just sat on the mound, underneath which his body was buried. There were a couple of trees there and had the situation been different Ponyboy might have actually enjoyed the beauty and the solitude of it all; but they weren't.

He just felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and a longing for home. He wanted to wake up to Darry and Soda tickling him and to ride along in Two-Bit's old junker of a car while he told some outrageous story about one of his many blonde escapades. He wanted to be in the lot with Johnny just looking at the stars. He'd even settle for a jail cell with Dallas Winston or worse of all alone time with Steve Randle who had always hated him anyway and the feeling had been mutual.

He thought of home and the longing only grew stronger. He'd give anything just to have Darry yell at him again, one more time. He wanted to go home, home. Was he going to be stuck in the woods for all eternity? Wasn't t there any way he could He felt the world spin out of control as he lost all sense of time, place and self.

When he came around again, Ponyboy realized quite quickly that he wasn't in the woods at all. He'd know the worn out red seats and sticky gum floor anywhere. There were just one or two people in the seats. Ponyboy looked toward the screen. _Georgy Girl_ was playing. It was kind of a lame flick. He'd gone to see it with Soda and Sandy a few weeks before. He remembered that they hadn't been interested in the plot either. Off course, that may have been because they were too busy making out in the back of the theater.

Ponyboy looked around. Had he fallen asleep during _Torn Curtain_? Had everything been a dream? He looked down.

NOPE! He was still translucent and nobody in the theater seemed to notice he was there. A feeling of sadness began to overwhelm him. He really was dead. It wasn't one of his crazy nightmares. They'd always been so vivid, but it had been nothing like this.

He sank to the floor. He was dead. He was dead. He was only fourteen. He hadn't done anything yet, least not any of the things he wanted to do. He'd wanted to travel, some place nice maybe out in the country. He wanted to go to college, heck he just wanted to make it high school graduation. Now none of that was ever going to happen. He'd never go on that first date with some classy girl or get married. He'd never play football in the lot again and he'd never see his brothers either.

This wasn't Heaven and bad as it was it wasn't Hell either, at least not as Sunday sermons or Dante had ever explained it. There was no fire, no brimstone, and no frozen wasteland; just an endless nothingness, like living but not.

He wondered if his parents were experiencing much of the same. He hoped not. That wouldn't be right. They were good people, the best. He hated to think of them stuck like he was. Or least thought he was.

He tried time and again to leave the theater and go home. At least then he could watch his brothers, try to contact them. Time and time again he ended up passing out and ending up by his grave or in the theater. Every time he lost hours and days. It seemed that nothingness was all that sleep was to ghosts and he hated it.

When he finally resigned himself to this person hell he began to experiment. It was clear that making himself visible was very difficult and although he could sit and stand sturdily enough he'd never been able to grab onto anything. He'd managed to tap an empty popcorn bag but that had left him tired and nearly caused another blackout.

It left his existence to be rather dull. He'd never been the type to be able to lay down and do nothing for hours at a time. Even watching the stars, sunset, and clouds, which normally would be a favorite pastime, became boring and dull.

The only upside to the whole situation was that he had access to unlimited free movies. This too, however, lost its charm once he had seen every one of them. Making it worse was his lack of ability to eat. It was torture eyeing all the chocolate bars, cola, and popcorn passing through when he could have none of it. He wasn't hungry but the idea and taste of the food were greatly missed. He especially longed for Darry's chocolate cake. Even Soda's, which was much too sweet, would have been nice.

It made him miss his brothers, both of them terribly. It has given him time to think. If he missed Darry this much, surely things had not been all bad between them. After all, it had been Darry who taught him how to do his first cartwheel and always wanted to be on his team for football. Darry fussed and worried more than their dad had but he reckoned, that if he did do that it was only because he cared. it would have been much less of a headache to leave him to his own devices.

Ponyboy always felt sick whenever he thought about it. He had never been grateful to Darry for all he did. Darry could have worked his way through school instead of chasing after some fourteen-year-old kid. Instead, he sacrificed everything for an ungrateful brat who had died anyway. Darry had failed to protect him when he'd never failed at anything before and that more than anything else hurt the deepest.

His days went like that for a time. Boredom, self-loathing and cleanliness. He soon, however, decided that this was getting him nowhere and only made his shallow existence all the more an eternal hell. So he begins to see if it were possible, as it was in the many books and movies he had read and seen, for a ghost to do certain tricks as it were. He hadn't, as of yet, been able to do more than sit on a solid object and of course therein lay part of his problem. At least if he could hold onto stuff he could watch movies when no one was there or

Time passed, as it always had and probably always would. Ponyboy began to get used to his existence and tried to make the best of it. He began to experiment, slowly gaining the strength to move and lift objects. it was draining at first. Like the time with the popcorn, at first, he blacked out he tried. As time went by the time before blackouts and after became longer and longer until he hardly ever blacked out at all. He took to playing pranks every now and then, moving popcorn buckets just a fraction of an inch from where the usher had set it, blowing straws at the necks of theater goers, nothing cruel or hurtful.

Other times he found himself in the woods, sitting under the two forked trees his corpse was buried beneath. At first, that particular location left him depressed. It was the only other place his incorporeal form seemed to be able to travel to. It was a lonely, quiet place. he would sit for hours thinking about the maggots eating away at his decaying body. He'd always had a rather morbid imagination and if he wanted, he knew he could see it for real. Eventually, though he began to appreciate the little-wooded spot. nobody every seemed to come by except for the deer and the rabbits. It was nice watching them starting their little families living in peace. They didn't seem to have to worry about hunters or Socs. It was a nice way to live or exist but it wasn't home, not by a long shot.

He wondered sometimes, more often than not, about his brothers and about the gang. Did they know he was dead? Did they wonder where he had gone? Was Dallas in jail? Had Two-Bit settled down finally? Was Steve still an asshole? And Johnny had he ever escaped his parents. He thought about Darry and Sodapop most of all.

It pained him to think of the way Darry and he had fought. The night before his death they had argued over his math test. He had been such a brat back then. Hindsight was 20-20 and he could see clearly now that Darry wanted him to have what he never would, a future. Here Darry had given up everything for him and Ponyboy never seemed to notice or care.

It was more than that, though. It only had taken getting murdered for Ponyboy to see that what really worried Darry was losing someone else he loved. He and their dad had been close, or like brothers than father and son. He'd thrown all that grief into caring for him and Soda, nothing less. It had to be eating Darry to pieces not to know where he, Ponyboy was.

And Soda… There was nobody on earth Ponyboy had loved more than his second oldest brother. It had always been that way. When he was a toddler, Ponyboy had toddled after Sodapop everywhere he went. Soda had this charisma about him. Full of life and laughter, and understanding everyone. What was not to love? And he was sure Soda cared about him. It had to be hell to wake up to that empty mattress…

They never came to the theater, though, unless it was one of his blackouts. As the days to turned to weeks to months to years and the movie, the house became a playhouse, Ponyboy never saw his brothers. He thought he saw Steve and Evie once but he'd been too nervous to say or do anything.

What could he do? Pop up and say "Hey Steve, it's been awhile. I'm dead, how are you?" It wouldn't have gone over very well. So, instead, Ponyboy resigned himself to his loneliness.

It wasn't all bad, though. The transformation to a playhouse made things more interesting. He genuinely liked reading scripts when nobody was looking, seeing the actors rehearse, see what became of their hard work. No two performances, even of the same play were the same.

Even if they never addressed him personally, the actors acknowledged the presence of their very own theater ghost and saw him as some kind of good luck symbol. His pranks were harmless and they laughingly blamed anything that went rang on the theater ghost, good old "Hank". Too bad they didn't know Good Old Hank was a kid.

His favorite play was _Our Town_. He could relate to the main character, Emily. His afterlife was heaven compared to hers. At least he didn't have to go through the pain of being a part of his past, unable to do anything or speak to the people he loved. He never saw them anyways…

The production whose rehearsal he was watching before everything changed, was done by a group of high school students. The acting was okay, and might, he thought to get better with time but there were some bothersome errors.

The casting for George was all wrong, the kid would have been much more suited for the Stage Manager and they had made the horrible mistake of using a set, an honest to goodness set. That what's started everything, or maybe ended it.

Ponyboy had been watching from the left wing when it happened. The wall of the Webb house began to tip, right towards the girl playing Emily. He didn't even think as he flew toward her, shoving her out of the way and floating out of the set piece and toward the rafters.

The girl was shivering, look around wildly, The students were muttering. "Did you see that?" "it was the ghost." "Holy crap, it's a kid!"

Word travels fast because of not 48 hours later, he received a visitor. It was the first time someone had come looking directly for him. He only saw a shadow at first, looking at him. "Hello,"

Ponyboy stepped forward toward the edge of the catwalk. It had been nearly 30 years but he knew that voice. If he had a still beating heart, it would have left to his throat.

"Hello…" The man stepped forward. "This is the police. You're trespassing. Come down now our I'll have to charge you with resisting arrest."

Ponyboy felt like crying and wished desperately that he could. He knew that voice as well as he knew the officer behind it. Darry! It was Darry.

Ponyboy floated slowly down the catwalk to face his brother. He looked so much like their dad now, it wasn't funny. He stood in front of his brother, head down and hands in his pockets. What now? He'd thought about seeing his brother again for so long but not like this.

"Ponyboy…" Darry let out a gulp. He sounded pitiful, so pitiful. Ponyboy stepped forward and looked up at his brother. He still towered over him.

Not knowing what else to do, Ponyboy smiled softly. "Missed you Darry."

Darry reached out his hand but quickly withdrew it, looking unsure of himself. Ponyboy remembered thinking once that even if had meant to, Darry had usually been a little too rough with him. He wondered if his brother was thinking the same thing.

"You can't hurt me Darry. It's okay." Ponyboy closed this distance. He put a hand on his brother's shoulder. Darry shivered a moment. He had no base of comparison but Ponyboy thought sadly that his hands must be cold.

Ponyboy smiled inspire of himself. "I'm pretty good at staying solid."

Darry looked on the break of tears when he reached out to touch Ponyboy's face. He couldn't feel his brother's touch, not really. Not anymore but it was comforting to have his hand there anyways.

Darrel shook his head. "Oh, Pony…." He was crying or close to it. Ponyboy wondered then how he could have ever thought his brother cold and unfeeling. It unnerved him too because Darry never cried, even when their parents died. He was always so strong…

"It's okay Darry, really. Please don't bawl. You never cried for mom and dad." A darkened looked passed Darry's face and he opened his mouth as if to speak but said nothing at first just licked his lips. He closed his watering eyes and finally said something, his voice hoarse and low.

"I've missed you, buddy. I'm sorry I was so hard on you." He had been hard on his younger brother. Pony couldn't deny it but the long years of lifeless existence had given him plenty of time to understand his brother's reasoning.

He shook his head. "You were just trying to protect me. I understand that now.

Darry's face darkened even more. "I didn't though kiddo, this still happened." It did. Ponyboy was dead and had been for longer than he had ever been alive. He had died young and alone, bleeding in the trunk of a red Corvair. He had died because he had not asked for a ride home. He had died because of a careless mistake and no matter how much either of them wished it was otherwise, Darry had not been there to protect him.

It wasn't his fault, though. Darry hadn't been there because he hadn't known he should be. Darry had warned his brother time and again about going off by his lonesome. He would have done everything in his power to make sure his kid brother was safe. Ponyboy understood that now.

"It wasn't your fault Darry, please don't blame yourself." Darry smiled sadly, pulling his hand away., shaking his head as if to say he could not believe his little brother was so grown up now. "I wish Soda could see you."

Ponyboy's face fell. Oh, how did too? He'd love to see Soda again. Was he as handsome as ever? Would he have the guilt that Darry did?

But he also knew that for Darry this moment would bring some element of closure. Darry would be able to see this as a chance to say goodbye. He would move on knowing what had happened. Maybe find some peace eventually.

Soda had always ever only felt in absolutes, black, and whites. If he knew his little brother's ghost haunted the playhouse he wouldn't find closure. He would come to the theater and never leave. He would see his brother as still living, never get to grieve and move on. That's just how Soda was.

"It's better this way. If he could see me, Soda would never get over it. Just tell him I love him, will you?"

Darry nodded. "Of course buddy." His hands trembled and were then that the tears began to fall.

Ponyboy closed the distance, willing himself with every fiber of his being to stay solid. He placed his arms around his brother in the embrace, thinking only briefly that had the years allowed him to live, he might have reached far further than below his brother's chest or that this was the final goodbye.

"I love you too Darry." And he did. He really truly did.

Darry trembled. "This is goodbye then?" He asked.

Ponyboy nodded. " I think.." he sighed, "I think this is what I've been waiting for all along" He'd heard after all that ghosts were souls with unfinished business and knew his.

His was to make it home from the movies, to understand his brother and to give the remaining people he loved the closure they needed. He needed this goodbye.

He let go of his brother. "It'll be okay Darry. It hasn't been bad. I think I can finally see Mom and Dad again. Won't that be nice?"

Darry nodded. "Yeah, kiddo, sure."

"And Darry?"

Darry looked up. "Yeah, kid?"

"How'd you know to look here?"

Darry's shoulder shook and he ran his fingers through his dark hair now peppered with streaks of gray. "Some guy came in the office rambling how about a ghost saved his kid from a falling set piece. Said he was sure it was the ghost of a kid he and his friends jumped years ago and dumped in the woods. Wouldn't say where unless I came here. Didn't know it would be you, though…"

Oh.. the girl he had saved… Her dad had.

He really would be coming home. He'd liked the woods but knowing his body could be closer to home in the same cemetery as his parents, give his brothers a chance to visit. That was nice too.

"Oh," he simply said.

Darry bit his lip. Neither one of them has broached the subject of the moments leading up to his death. "Did it hurt?"

Did it hurt? It had been horrible, far worse than drowning and agonizing long. The dark had been worse of all. Worse than the stinging biting pain, the force of his lungs fighting against themselves. It had been horrible.

He wanted to tell his brother that no, it had been quick and painless, like falling asleep after a long day of football and reading. No nightmares but he couldn't.

He simply nodded.

"I'm sorry kiddo, I'm so so sorry."

Ponyboy shrugged. and then slipped back startled. He was beginning to feel weak but rather than a blackness consuming him. He saw white. He knew his time with his brother was short and that this would be the last night he ever haunted the movie house.

Darry seemed to know it too because he took a deep breath and touched his brother's cheek. "Goodbye, honey."

"Bye Darry, Hey.." Ponyboy paused. "Do me a favor and don't cry when you guys have my funeral."

Darry nodded. "No promises there kid."

He didn't want people crying over them because he was happy. Happy to talk to Darry, happy to be going home. He just wanted Darry to be strong like he always was.

"Okay," he said simply, "well then can you make sure I have a nice spot. I kind of liked the woods. Tress was nice and all."

"That," Darry choked, "I can do."

He wasn't sure when he faded but the next thing he knew, Ponyboy was alone in the theater and he saw himself talking to Darry and felt another presence to. He turned around. A man was standing before him and without even having to ask, he knew.

This was the man who in is youth had killed him and who now had brought him and Darry back together again. They were watching everything unfold as he talked to his brother. Ponyboy stopped behind the man,

"He never cried." The man jumped and turned around. He froze and then slowly, he turned his head.

"What did you say?"

"He never cried when our parents died but he did tonight."

"Oh"

The man's face was almost unreadable. it was hard to tell if he was half scared or sad, so Ponyboy continued, hoping that maybe it was the latter because he deserved to fill the guilt if nothing else.

"I guess they'll bury me next to them," The man cocked his head and Ponyboy picked at the stage with the toe of his shoe.

"my parents. I wish they'd plant a tree, I liked the forked ones. I always liked the woods, never knew I'd be buried there"

David's face paled. "I'm sorry." David said closing his eyes, "You deserved better. I, we never should have jumped you that day."

Ponyboy shrugged. Of course, he did. He deserved to grow up, to graduate start a family. He deserved to go home to his brothers. But nothing could change what happened. Dead was dead. "It's not like you can change the past. I forgive you."

David's face widened. "How, how can you. We murdered you, just threw you away like a bag of trash. We took away your chance at ever having a future."

Ponyboy sighed. He put his hands in his ethereal pockets. "I'm dead; it won't do me any good to hold a grudge. I've had a lot of time to think, grudges, they only hold you down."

David looked at Ponyboy thoughtfully. He just shrugged. "Twenty-seven years gives a guy a lot of time to think," he explained. "but I guess you know that or you wouldn't have turned yourself in." he paused. "Thank you, for, for them."

"Them?" David tilted his head to the side.

Ponyboy rueful smiled. "My brothers, I haven't been able to watch them but it can't have been easy."

"You were close?" David's voice sounded sad, broken.

Was he close with his brothers? That was like asking if the sky was blue. They were his brothers, his best friends. He and Darry had their rough patches in the last 6-8 months he was alive but life had been good together.

"Darry and me, we fought a lot. He was always worried something would happen to me so he came off kind of strong but we still had some good times…."If he had a chest, Ponyboy was sure it would be hurting.

"We might have been really close one day."

"And your other brother?" David asked. That was harder, so much harder. He'd never get to say goodbye to Soda. Ponyboy knew that and it hurt.

"I never loved anyone as much as I did him. We shared everything. I think everything had to be harder on him." the ghost boy runs a hand through his hair. "I think it might help him, though, to have a place to mourn. I don't think he ever got to. Soda was always so happy. I hate to see him sad but he deserves that much. Thank you for giving him that chance. My brothers can finally find closure."

"And you," David asks, "what about you?"

A light flickered behind him and Ponyboy could swear he saw a tall man and women with golden hair. The man had his arm around the women. He knew them, would know them anywhere. Ponyboy looked at David.

"My parents are waiting on me. I'm finally going to make it home from the movies" He walked toward his parents. David, his murderer, and redeemer all but forgot.

His mother lets go of her father and opened his arms. Ponyboy ran to them. How long had it been?

To his surprise, she was warm, as real as the flesh body he had once known. His father stepped forward and rubbed his back, comforting like he used to.

"Hey, buddy."

"Mom, dad…" He was crying. Ponyboy didn't know he could do that anymore. His mother cupped his chin.

"It's okay baby. You're okay. We can go home now. You can rest."

He clutched at her again, his beautiful, beautiful mother.

He could hear his dad's soft laugh, Soda's laugh."We've missed you too buddy." He sounded sad, though. "I'm sorry this had to happen."

He turned from his dad and wrapped his arms around him, tears falling from his cheek. "Hey now," he said. "It's okay. You'll be happy where we're going. You're not going to be alone anymore."

Ponyboy sniffled but smiled. It had been nearly 30 years and finally, he was going to make it home from the movies. So, tears drying and his parent's arms around his shoulder, he stepped into the bright sunlight, away from the darkness of the movie house.


End file.
